


Now Kiss.

by Yourdearestwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yourdearestwatson/pseuds/Yourdearestwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty captured John and Sherlock to complete his fairytale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: This is based off of this fanart(http://idirtyicecream.tumblr.com/image/31206217984) that, until now, I didn’t know that I wanted. Written in John’s POV since you know, I roleplay him and stuff. John muse demands it being in first person. I don’t even know.

Never had I thought I would be someone’s puppet. I had done things on command for my commanding officers; but that’s different. It’s a different world and it’s a fine line between being a puppet and having orders to follow through. The simple difference is this: strings. Orders are your obligation, it’s your job. It’s your duty. Being a puppet, you have no choice. You have strings that are easily moved and plucked at. They make you do things that you know that usually, you would never do.

It started a while back ago, being a puppet. At the pool. The first meeting between Moriarty and my best friend, Sherlock Holmes. Jim knew exactly which buttons to push, which ones made things a little more important than my own life and morals. How he came across such information? I have my hunches; starting off with his own ‘lapdog,’ an old army “friend” of mine by the name of Sebastian Moran. And my therapists wonder why I have trust issues. Laughable.

Sherlock was very right about his description of Jim Moriarty, he is a spider. He knows exactly what he is doing. And gaining such information that added to his web was one of the things that trapped us, that made us end up, well, end up here.

Here, meaning handcuffed to the great sleuth, shadowed by the devil himself. It had been hours since he’d been forced to just stare at each other, but being the lever man that he was, Sherlock and I developed a way to speak without speaking. Code. Me, being a military man and he being a bloody genius we knew Morris code. Blinking when the spider wasn’t looking, or got a call.

How are we going to get out of this one, idiot? I blinked quickly while the criminal’s back was turned.

Do exactly as we are told. Blinked he.

Sometimes, I couldn’t believe that he was an actual genius but rather a frightened five year old. However, in this moment, I fretted, that Sherlock was very much correct. Tightening my jaw in reluctant resignation, I knew that Moriarty had his puppets as he wanted. He would play with us until he got bored. The question was, when would that be?

The criminal’s voice broke our concentration, our only communication that we had. “Isn’t that adorable?” he cooed in his Irish brogue that almost made me want to cringe. He was talking about us. He saw the communication, or a part of it. The criminal squatted between us and had an unsettling smile that made my stomach knot in a sickening manner. I would have vomited if I even thought I had the chance to do so. I tightened my jaw more. God, I had a lot to say. None of which I couldn’t say. For both of our safety. Sherlock’s icy gaze met mine again while Moriarty spoke again, “You do know what they say about you two, don’t you?” My heart stopped. Of course we knew. We weren’t stupid. I kept silent as Jim’s hand wrapped around the back of my head, his long fingers threading in my hair. God, his touch was always so gentle and yet so forceful. I was now his puppet. I would do as he directed. Jim’s other hand reached around to caress Sherlock’s cheekbone and my blood boiled. I had no feelings or desire for that man, but how dare the devil touch Sherlock like that. My nose must have flared at the slightest because there was a tutting sound coming from the shadow between us and I resumed my blank look. “There’s a good boy,” said Moriarty as his thumb skimmed the skin of my best friend. “Sherly, do be a dear and touch the good doctor.” I watched Sherlock lock eyes with mine as he clutched the side of my arm as if to say it’s all right, John. Everything is all right. 

Except it isn’t, you idiot.

I hoped Sherlock could read my thoughts. A tug at his lips. He did. Jim looked at me, I could feel his eyes boring into me. I swallowed. Heart pounding as I waited to do as I was told.

“You an touch him too, Johnny-boy.”

I wanted to wince. Only my mum called me Johnny-boy. And now the criminal had turned it into something else. It was sick.

“Right there, on his heart. We all know he has one.”

Was that jealousy? It sounded like Jim was jealous. Jim was jealous for what we had. For what Sherlock had developed and he had not. I slowly (for show, of course,) reached up to put my hand on the tail of Sherlock’s scarf to flatten it against his chest, to where his heart was and was rewarded by an demented giggle from the blur in the cornner of my eye. That’s all he was now. It was just Sherlock and I. Even though I could feel Jim’s grip tighten in my hair and see his hand tilt up Sherlock’s face to me, it was still just us. “It’s almost romantic,” the spider sung. If his hand wasn’t in my hair, I would have tackled that man. His voice alone made me see red, see blood, his blood. I took in a breath as his hand guided me closer to Sherlock. Close enough that I could smell his deodorant and feel the heat that radiated off of him as he still stared at me. Was that honestly all he could do? In the corner of my eye, I could see that grin, that disturbing grin. What was his plan? What did he have in that twisted mind?

“Sherly, aren’t you going to tell little Johnny-boy?” he asked Sherlock, who I could see swallow with a tight bob of his Adam’s apple. “Speak, Sherly, go on.”

Silence.

“I said speak!” his voice bounced off the walls, giving it more emphasis than it should have.

A pause as I saw the color in Sherlock’s eyes change from an icy blue to a darker shade of azure. “John,” he said as Moriarty giggled dementedly, I looked at Sherlock. I couldn’t stand to try to look at the criminal. “John,” Sherlock tried again, his lips wet by his tongue. “John, I love you.”

The world seemed to stop. Was that him talking? Or was it the fact that Moriarty had his face, threatening to mask his mouth and nose with his twisted fingers? I swallowed and looked at him. Carefully, I blinked, What?

“You heard me, John. I love you.”

More demented giggles, “See, Johnny-boy? See? The stories are true. All those fairytales. All true,” the voice was like a yo-yo of glee. Like the man –no, child—couldn’t be happier that Cinderella turned out to be real. “Now,” Jim’s hand got impossibly tighter in my hair as he pushed me closer to Sherlock. “Now, what do you have to say, Johnny?”

What did I have to say? Was I supposed to return the sentiment? Was I supposed to do something else? My guess was that I was supposed to love Sherlock back. Complete Jim’s story. That was all he wanted, after all. A good story.

“Time’s a tick-en, Johnny.”

“I love you,” I said quickly, the words stumbling out of my mouth as if they had been there the whole time, just waiting to be spilled out.

“What was that?” asked the devil, “Daddy didn’t hear you.”

I hated it when he referred himself as daddy, but I took a steadying breath and looked Sherlock in the eyes. It was there I could see that he had meant it, and even as I pressed my hand where his heart was I found that it was beating just a little faster. It wasn’t Moriarty’s doing. It was real. I smiled. Sherlock loved me.

“I love you,” I said. This time, more sure of myself. I could feel sweat pouring from the side of my temple. The heat between us was almost unbearable, and yet Sherlock looked so damn comfortable. Of course. No perception of space.

“Gooooooooooood,” I could feel him throw his head back because my hair was pulled a little. I did my best not to wince. He resumed his position and leaned in. I could smell Jim now, but my eyes were locked on Sherlock’s. He really did mean it. Jim might have had control of our bodies and our words, but there was a look in those eyes that he could never take away.

I wanted to move closer and maybe Jim knew that as he pushed me closer. I wanted to repeat it, even though I wasn’t told to. I wanted to tell Sherlock how much I loved him, and how it didn’t matter that Jim was using us as his playthings. Because it didn’t. I tugged at the scarf tail and a small smile of the man’s lips appeared. He knew. It never had to be said. And yet, I wanted it to be said. I licked my lips and started to open my mouth before I noticed that Jim had inched us closer and Sherlock still had not closed his eyes, always focusing on me. The only thing that had changed was how tight he was clutching my arm. He wanted this to happen. He wanted me to kiss him. I started to wonder if I would be his first kiss. His first anything. My own heart pounding in my ears as I closed my ears, but not my mouth and heard a hiss to my left . “Now, kiss,” it said, sounding akin to a snake. And that’s what I did. I kissed him, mouth wide open, lips covering his. I kissed the mouth of Sherlock Holmes under the hand of James Moriarty.

And I liked it.


End file.
